The Knock
A soft knock echoed through the room, pulling her away from the window. She turned, and the shadows inside seemed to shift with her. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and for a fleeting second, her heart raced. Memories of days when knocks meant danger, when shadows meant something entirely different, rushed through her mind.
But it was just Grey. She recognized the movement behind the door, the steady rhythm of his presence—strong, consistent, careful. Always careful.
“Come in,” she said, her voice softer than she intended.
The door opened, and he stood there as though he had materialized from the shadows themselves. His eyes immediately found hers, and for a brief second, words were unnecessary. He took her in, the tattoos on her body like pieces of art, each brimming with years of history, stories untold. He knew them well. He had traced every edge, every line.
“It’s late,” Grey said, stepping inside, yet his eyes were drawn, as they always were, to the way the light hit her form—half in shadow, half in light. The line between the pastels of her outfit and the deep vibrancy of her ink drew him in. It was impossible not to be captivated by how effortlessly her body contrasted itself.
The Past
Over the months, Morgan had let him into her world—a world that evoked contrasts just like her clothing today. The soft and the rough. The calm and the storm. She was someone who wore the weight of the universe on her shoulders, yet managed to move through life in delicate lace, smiling as though she hadn’t seen war. As though shadows hadn’t chased her for years.
But in that moment, her smile was genuine. He stepped closer, and his hand touched her waist—just below the floral fabric, against the ink of a dragon that coiled around her skin.
“You look,” Grey paused. He couldn’t find the word. Beautiful? That seemed too plain. Dangerous? Too impersonal. Intricate? Perhaps the closest word, as it defined so much of her. “You look like magic caught halfway between night and day.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow at him, but her smile deepened. She liked that. Magic between night and day—that was as close as anyone had come to understanding her.
“I’ll take that,” she said, resting her head against his chest, feeling the weight of him, the reality of him amidst the echoes the sunlight and shadows left around them.
The Future
They stood together for a while, enveloped by the silence of that lazy afternoon. Soft winds continued to swirl, caressing the curtains, making them rise and fall like breath—alive and untroubled. Morgan inhaled deeply, her own breath steady now. The world outside continued its rhythm, but for now, in the swirl of light and dark, in the fabric of lace and ink, she had created a small sanctuary.
In this moment, at least, the shadows of her past would stay at the edges, and the light would continue to embrace her.
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